Maiden of Rohan
by Alyx Bradford
Summary: Chapter Six Up -- No, it isn't about Eowyn. A look at the story from another angle -- that of a common peasant girl in Edoras.
1. Abelyn's Foreword

_[Authoress's Notes:_

_[Because I am always far more interested in the stories we don't see.  Because there were so many people affected, and we hear of so few of them._

_[I have chosen to follow the movie more nearly than the book, as the movie is clearer in my memory, and I have not the time to re-read the book again to make sure my facts are straight.  Please excuse any inaccuracies.  The dates I have borrowed from the Appendix, but I tampered with a few of them to make them more nearly fit the movie's plot.  Similarly, this will end where The Two Towers movie ends, after the battle for Helm's Deep.  Why?  Because I didn't make it through the book version of Return of the King the first time, and the chances that I will now when I barely have time to read anyway is extremely unlikely.  Except a sequel to this when the movie of RotK comes out._

_[This vaguely ties in with my work-in-progress, Chaos Is Come Again, but few people will understand why.  I'll make it apparent when I get to it._

_[Mandatory Disclaimer: Eomer, Eowyn, Grima, Theoden, Theodred, those of the Fellowship, those of the Enemy, Edoras, and Helm's Deep, and indeed all of Middle Earth, do not belong to me, and I'm not the least bit sorry.  I wouldn't want ownership of so chaotic a place.  This is fanfic, I'm not making money off of it, so don't sue me.  It wouldn't do you any good, anyway, all my money goes to fuel my car._

_[Mandatory Warning:  Abelyn, Hathneyn, and their relatives are all mine.  No steal.  Should you, for reasons beyond my comprehension, wish to borrow them, just ask me._

_[Right.  Enough of my rambling.  Read on, intrepid explorer.]_

Maiden of Rohan Abelyn's Foreword 

I was nineteen that year.  (I would turn twenty that summer, but as what we now call the Great Days took place before the break of spring, that is of no matter).  Nineteen, and a simple peasant girl.  But a simple peasant girl who could read and write enough to set down what she knew.

In those dark days, each of us took what comfort possible in the smallest things.  In her prayers every night, my mother gave thanks simply that my brothers and I were still alive.  My eldest brother occupied his time with the care of our horse, my youngest with the top I had made him from a bit of bone.  And I?  I took my comfort in writing, in the little notebook that had been my father's last gift to me.  It somehow seemed very important to me that I take record of what happened in those days.  I can not explain why.  Though I now serve the Lady Eowyn, I was then no one important.  I had no say in any battle, I made no decisions – I was simply affected by them.  But it seemed to me then – as it does now – that someone had to set down what it was like for the common people.  I think too often those who rule us make decisions without really considering what it does to those below them.

I am Abelyn, daughter of Alewyth, peasant girl and handmaiden to the Lady Eowyn, and these are the stories of my days.


	2. The Gathering Storm

[Authoress's Note: 

[Presented here are only some of the journal entries of Abelyn, daughter of Alewyth, those vaguely relevant to the plot as a whole or particularly important to her life.  No doubt readers would find little entertainment in her daily accounts of carding wool, weaving cloth, and trying to coax vegetables from the ground.]

3018 20 September 

Hathneyn says a wizard was in Edoras today.  He was attending Lord Eomer, and apparently they bore witness to the scene.  Hathneyn has it from Eomer that the wizard is known in the north as Gandalf the Grey, Mithrandir to the Elf-folk.  Neyn could not say more, except that he irritated Theoden-king, and that Wormtongue liked him not at all.  (Though this is no great surprise to me, Wormtongue does not seem to like anyone overmuch, excepting perhaps Lady Eowyn, gods save her).  The story goes that Theoden sent him away, bidding him take any horse he wished, so long as he left.

It makes me wonder what a wizard was doing here to begin with.

It seems to me that something in the world is changing.  (Neyn agrees, though he can not say why).  Something is growing… darker.  My dreams have been odd at night, filled with shadow and creatures I have never seen, people I have never met.  And… I must sound crazy, but it seems to me that they are all in the future somewhere, which is perhaps why the dreams are so shady.  The future, of course, has yet to take shape.

I spoke of this to my mother, and she told me to hush.  She often does that.  I spoke of this to my father, and he smiled, and patted my head, called me a good girl, and told me to go help with dinner.  I spoke of this to Asther, and he laughed.  Little Eibler was nearby, and looked up at me in that knowing way of his.  (I sometimes suspect there is more to my little brother than one would think).  I spoke of this to Hathneyn, and he wanted to know what I thought it meant.  I didn't know what to tell him.  All I can say is that it seems certain the world is changing, and the visit of this wizard seems to confirm it.

I then told Neyn what happened when I spoke of my dreams to my family (especially Asther, the stupid cur).  He told me to ignore them.  "If you feel it means something… then it must."  Neyn has such faith in me.  I often feel he alone understands me.  I have only just come in from sitting with him.  I wonder if he knows I hold no times more dear than those spent sitting in his arms, watching the stars.  I am sure he would be mocked if the other Riders knew how soft his heart really is – then again, perhaps not.  Surely those who have ever loved a woman would understand.

_21 September_

The wizard is gone, and so too is Shadowfax, the king's favorite horse.

I imagine he is now none so pleased that he bid the Grey One leave with such haste.

_3 November_

I care not for those who have wealth and jewels and land, there is no happier girl in all of Rohan than I am today!  Neyn, my dearest Neyn, spoke to my father at last!  I had been wondering… these past few days he had grown stuttering and nervous around me.  It turns out he was working up the nerve to speak to my father!  Imagine!  Hathneyn, son of Ehather, among the tallest and strongest of the Riders, attendant to Lord Eomer, reduced to stammering at the mere thought of speaking to Alewyth, a short and bent farmer with far more brain than strength.

But it is done!  We are to be married come springtime.  I think Neyn would wish it sooner, but who gets married in winter?  It bodes ill on the future of the union, to be wed in so bleak and empty a time.  And so we await the first flowers.  I will be a bride with white and yellow blooms in my hair.

My mother has been weeping with happiness all evening.  I sometimes think I was ever little to her but bait for a marriage, but I know she is proud of me.  To her view, a girl of my station marrying an attendant to a Lord is the most I could ever hope for.  I care not for his station or who he knows.  He is my Neyn and he loves me.  Nothing else matters.

_25 December_

Something has happened.  I don't know what, but it is something.  My dreams last night spoke of great journeys, of bold men and – no, not just men.  Impossible as it seems, Elves and Dwarves and something else, too.  I have never seen Elves or Dwarves or these other things, but I saw them in my dream.  One Elf – who seemed to me older than he looked – spoke at length, a great speech which moved his companions deeply.  I had no idea what he was speaking of.  It was so much rambling in my mind, meaningless words and phrases I did not understand.  And yet I feel it is important.

_26 December_

Neyn says the fourth kind of being in my dream were Halflings.  He has never seen one, but he has heard of them.  He says they are something like men, only short and fat.

[A/N:

_[Abelyn = eh-buh-lin;  Hathneyn = hath-neh-in;  Ehather = eh-hath-ir;  Alewyth = ail-with_

_[More to come.  Review, please!]_


	3. Stranger Yet

[Authoress's Notes: 

_[Things start to get interesting…_

_[Confidential to Flora Boffins:  You know me too well.]_

3019 

_1 January_

A new year.  May it be more promising than the last.

Hathneyn brought me a ring today.  He seemed almost shamed – it is small and silver, and I think it beautiful.  He promises one day he will have the wealth to buy me finer things, though I have told him a thousand times I care not.  He is all I need.  But Neyn does not have so high an opinion of himself, and so feels compelled to prove himself.

Men, I believe, are silly creatures.

15 January 

And now my mother believes me mad.  I do not think I blame her.  Had I a daughter who woke up screaming in the night, I would probably think her mad, too.  (Then again, perhaps not.  I like to think I am of a more understanding sort than my mother).

Had it just been images, I believe I would have been fine.  I have suffered nightmares for some time now – since summer, really.  But this was more intense… it was a place of darkness, and yet of fire.  Cold and damp, yet the source of fear was a blazing light.  A demon of some sort, all ablaze… and these men (and others) I have seen now and again.  All were there, including a few of those Halflings Neyn mentioned.  The two men, I think, are each of great importance, as is one of the Halflings.  Why, I can't begin to guess.  But this did not trouble me – the wizard was there.  The one who came to Edoras in – September, was it?  How I know this, I can not explain.  I did not see him close.  I only know his name from Neyn.  But it was him – grey and ancient and powerful.  He battled the demon-creature… I could not see the outcome, but I imagine it was not a good one, for I felt – in my dream – a sudden wave of terror, shock, horror… These senses, which I attribute to his companions, were in my mind.

It terrified me.  I felt them cry out – felt the angry dismay, the horrified denial, the pain and grief and sorrow and terrible suffering.  Who would not wake screaming under such circumstances?  And yet my mother thinks me mad…  

I refused to say what I had seen to her, though she tried to cajole it out of me.  I have learnt not to speak of this to my family.  My parents don't understand (Mother just considers it a blessing I've found someone willing to marry me, considering my oddities), Eibler and Abethen are too young to trouble with such things, Eigrin ignores me as he has always done, and Asther pulls my hair and teases me.  "Little Abelyn a prophetess now?"

Perhaps.

And then again, perhaps not.  I don't know.  I have no knowledge of such things, and I don't pretend to.  All I know is that I have troubling dreams.

25 January 

The wizard is dead.

I should tell how I know of this, for it was stranger than any knowledge I have come by before.

Mother grew tired of my bouncing about the house – Neyn has been on duty for two days, and so I had not been out of the house much, and my pent up energy was beginning to wear on her nerves.  She set me to spinning, a lamentable task for anyone with energy.  But I succumbed to its powerful magic soon enough… spinning has been known to put many a woman into a sort of trance.  Me especially.  This time, thought… this time it seemed a _real_ trance, not just a hypnosis induced by the tedious labor of spinning.  The threads whirled before me until they were there no longer…

I saw the wizard, this time without his companions.  He was alone somewhere, a place cold and white and far from comfort.  Whatever demon he had faced was nowhere to be seen.  The Grey One was on his back, eyes closed, skin raw from battle and exposure.  And he was not moving.  Not moving, twitching, blinking, breathing.

When the vision broke, I was on the floor and bleeding.  Somewhere between falling into the trance and coming out of it, I fell off my stool and wounded myself in the process.  Now my mother can not stop jabbering about my "illness."  I think the woman must believe I'm possessed.  Eibler seemed interested in his quiet way.  Asther accused me of doing it for attention.  And so now I've been sequestered away into bed, to stay here until I am "recovered."  I feel fine.  I should feel a great deal better if I were allowed to go visit Neyn.  His presence alone is comfort to me.  But being shut away has given me the time to think on what I saw.

I did not know the wizard, nor his quest.  Yet I am somehow very saddened at his passing.

_27 January_

Out of bed today.  (Honestly, Mother calls me mad, but she's the one who kept a girl perfectly well and capable of working stuck in bed for two days).  Neyn came to see me, and we took a walk after I finished my chores.  I told him all about what had happened – he had heard some things from various sources and gossipy neighbors, and was quite concerned for my welfare.  I was hoping the truth would set him at ease, but…

Men are men.  And will worry themselves for no good reason no matter what women do.  He seems even more concerned for me now.  He agrees with Asther's deduction of prophecy, though he does not say so mockingly.  "Think carefully on this, my Lyn.  It may be more important than you now realize."

I am sure it is important, but as I have no idea what any of it means, I fail to see what good thinking on it will do me.

_[Authoress's Notes:_

_[Asther = as-thur;  Eibler = ai-blur;  Abethan = eh-buh-than; Eigrin = ai-gren_

_[Next time: February.  The attacks on Rohan begin, and the Riders leave the city.]_


	4. Darkness Rising

_[Authoress's Notes:_

_[The mark of a good servant is that she is not seen unless meant to be seen.  At least that's the excuse I'm working with.]_

_2 February_

I have suddenly been thrust from peasant girl to a higher position than I could have hoped for.

Lord Eomer happened to need to speak with Hathneyn while we were out walking today.  Introductions were made, and somehow the lord made the decision that I would be a good companion for his sister.  "Of late she has grown too solitary, too confined.  Perhaps a new handmaiden would serve to draw her out."  I doubt the possibility and my own abilities, but who am I, Abelyn of Alewyth, to argue with the nephew of the king?

And so tomorrow I go to take up residence in the Great Hall, with the rest of the lady's maidservants.  My mother, I think, could not be happier.  This pleases her more than my betrothal to Neyn did.  My father congratulates me.  "I knew you were for better than this."  Even Asther has been subdued.  Neyn could not be prouder of me – I know not why, I did nothing to earn the position but exist and be the beloved of one of Eomer's trusted men.  But, I am to be handmaiden to the greatest lady in Rohan.  It pleases me well.

_3 February_

Eilyn, Halnith, Freithyn, Aesith.  These are my fellows now, the other handmaidens.  I think it fitting to say some small things about each.  Eilyn is small and sweet, younger than me, with hair far more towards white than gold.  Halnith is an older lady, a distant relation of Lady Eowyn's, very much the mother hen type.  Freithyn is plain in appearance and rather severe in manner.  Aesith has darker hair than many in our land, and is, like me, new – she has been with the lady but two weeks.

Lord Eomer spoke true of his sister.  She is so quiet, so very… alone.  Surrounded by people, and yet alone.

_9 February_

Lady Eowyn may be distant and even cold, but she is kind as well.

I attended her this morning, helping her to dress and arrange her hair, and we were speaking meaninglessly.  Until she told me the tale she had heard of a peasant girl who had strange visions.  I flushed – probably to the roots of my hair – and told her the truth of it.  "Aye, a peasant girl, but on recently raised above her station."  She smiled weakly.  I told her all that I had seen – beyond what I had told anyone but Neyn – and she listened.  I don't know what made me trust in her so implicitly, confide in her completely… but she listened, and neither declared me mad or bothersome.  She seemed concerned, and expressed her hope that the darkness I saw could yet be stopped.

I hope so, too.

14 February 

The wizard is… not dead?  
I'm not sure I understand.  But it seems that he is… re-alive.  If that is possible.  I suppose it must be, for a wizard.

Truly, this is no longer at the forefront of my mind.  There is… a darkness rising.  I can't tell what, but it threatens closer now… not these nameless people in my dreams, but my own people…  I see Neyn and Lord Eomer and the Riders meeting some great dark force… but I can not see the outcome.  Perhaps there is none, yet, and it is for all of us to make…

_17 February_

I know now what the darkness is.  In a way, at least.  From dreams, confirmed coldly by reality.

Darkness spreads into the land from all borders.  (Well, perhaps not all, but I have a very poor grasp of geography).  I don't know what comes from the east… but anything out of Mordor can not bear good tidings.  And the wild men, little better than savage beasts, have started attacking our smaller villages.  Reports have begun coming in daily.  Rohan is in great danger, I am sure of it.

Everyone in Edoras seems nervous.  Even those who don't know of the danger, or don't understand the severity… it is like we can all of us sense the trouble coming.  The city grows bleaker by the day.  The lady grows more distracted and distant, her time spent trying to coax her uncle the king back into being a leader.  Lord Eomer and all the Riders are busy figuring out how to handle the problem.  And of the other handmaidens, only Aesith thinks I am not crazy or, at the very least, worrying over nothing.  And so I have been spending my hours with her, stitching and talking and _not spinning_.  I am fearful of it… I have no wish to have more doom haunting my head.

_23 February_

The situation in Rohan grows steadily worse.  Every day we hear tales of terror from the provinces.  Prince Theodred and many of our warriors (Lord Eomer and my dear Neyn included) have ridden out, to try and defend our lands from the coarse invaders.

And here in Edoras…

I have been attending Lady Eowyn when she requires my help.  She is so removed… but I admire her strength.  Another woman in her position might have fallen to pieces by now.  She may be cold, but she is still whole.  Parents gone, her aunt as well, and her uncle… withered and old, little more than a puppet to Grima Wormtongue's whims.  I perceive from Lady Eowyn a double hatred for the man – I have seen in his glances a dark lust, one I believe she seeks desperately to escape.  It makes my skin crawl.  Would that he might crawl back to whatever pit from whence he came, and leave my lady, land, and king alone.  All the citizens of Edoras have seen the king's rapid decline these past few months, and we all know… no matter the actions, it is Wormtongue behind them.  Our king is a shadow of the man he once was.

I think my lady weeps in silence, without tears.  She is crying inside, too proud and strong to let it show.  For what, though?  A woman may cry over many things.  Loss, then?  Or lack of hope… She has such a spirit, my lady.  But I think it may be suffocating.  She is alone so often, only calling on someone to attend her when she absolutely needs it… To be alone with her thoughts… it surprises me not at allthat she is so distant and melancholy.

I miss Neyn already.  They only left early this morning, but already I miss him.

_24 February_

Lady Eowyn has taken to keeping a woman near her at all times when she is from her chamber.  Wormtongue is less likely to wind his way into her company when she is accompanied by one of us.  She has not confided so in me – nor, from what I can gather, in Eilyn, Halnith, Freithyn, Aesith, or indeed anyone at all – but I believe she deeply desires to avoid him.  I can not blame her.

He is deceptive, manipulative.  I have had the opportunity now to see him near the king… he weaves his words as a spell, designed to make the king believe whatever he says.  Our once proud ruler has been reduced to a mewling kitten at Wormtongue's feet.  It makes me sad to see.

_[A/N:  Eilyn = ai-lin, Halnith = hall-neeth, Freithyn = frey-lin, Aesith = eh-sith_

_[Next chapter:  The rest of February.  Wounding, banishment, ill omens… and that's all *before* things get really bad.]_


	5. Hope Seemed Like the Summer Bird

_[Authoress's Notes: _

[The title is from "When You Believe," which slipped into my head when I was writing.  The full quote is "In this time of fear/when prayers so often proved in vain/hope seemed like the summer bird/too swiftly flown away."  Which I thought was appropriate.]

_25 February_

The Riders have returned, but not under the circumstances we all hoped for.  Their numbers are diminished, and Prince Theodred is most grievously injured.  My poor lady has been at his side nearly since he was brought home.  She watches his condition worsen – a stomach wound, not often recovered from.  She weeps openly now, though we handmaidens have the good sense to pretend not to notice.  Lord Eomer is distressed as well.  All the Riders are made melancholy – the loss of their brave Prince now looks certain.  Some mourn as though he were already dead.  (It makes little difference, the entire city has been swathed in black for ages now anyway).  And the king?

The king does not seem to notice, only sits on his throne in a mindless stupor.  I watched as Lady Eowyn knelt at his side, clasping his hand, begging, pleading with him to return to his senses.

And for me?  It is the herald of the approaching storm I have seen.  I have slept but little of late… my mind is filled with fire and the stench of death, fear and hate and jealousy and power.  I do not wake screaming anymore – more often I just do not sleep.  It is beginning to show.  "You look like hell," Neyn said upon returning.  I'm sure he meant no harm my by it – it's true.  I am now as worn and tired as the rest of the city.

_27 February_

Whatever hope was left for Edoras is, I fear, now lost.  Mayhap even for the entire country.

Lord Eomer was banished today, sent from the city, told to leave Rohan on pain of death.  Will he really?  He has left the city, certainly, but I do not believe he would abandon his country.

The Riders have gone with him.  Not all.  Some are too afraid, some have fallen under Wormtongue's spell.  But the good and noble men, true to Rohan and to the memory of their king… they have gone with him.  They have chosen exile over a life here – because life here is not only dismal, but full of lies and deceit.  Neyn, of course, has gone.  Eomer did not even have to ask him; he was saddling his horse the instant he heard what happened to his lord.

And so they have left.  Behind them are those loyal to Grima, those too scared to contradict him… and the women.  Neither here nor there.  The halls are empty now, cold and quiet, the city still.  It seems so very lonely – so many women whose men have gone.

I do not know if I will see him again.  It has not really hit me yet, that possible truth.  I was numb when he left – unable to cry or shake or plead with him to stay.  (I could do no such thing, anyway – a man's noble duty is to stand by his convictions, but I did see other women begging their mates to remain in the city).  I simply looked at him. "Be brave," he said.  "Be brave, my dearest Lyn.  We travel to fight what battles we may, but the danger is truly still here."  He jerked his head towards the Hall.  Then he dropped a kiss on my forehead, swung into his saddle, and looked down at me.  "I hope to return soon."  The _I may not return at all_ remained unspoken, but the truth of it hung in the air.  "Always remember I love you."  I nodded dumbly, too saddened to speak.  He put on his helmet and went in search of his fellows.

_28 February_

Blood, blood, blood… always blood in my dreams…

I have learned the specifics of why Lord Eomer was banished.  He crossed Wormtongue one time too many, it seems.  He confronted his uncle and did not get past a few words before the viper intercepted.  He may have escaped banishment… but apparently there was some discussion of Lady Eowyn.  Lord Eomer loves his sister well and is quite protective of her and her interests.  I do think Wormtongue threw him out more for interfering with her than with the king.  I do not think I have words in my vocabulary suitable for that viper.  I shall be sure to ask Neyn for some fitting curses (if I ever see him again).  Wormtongue is foul, base, scheming… once he was merely a disgusting sycophant, but now… now he holds the reins of power.  And he is more dangerous than ever.  And so it was he, far more than Theoden-king, who sent Lord Eomer from the realm.

All this I learned from Eilyn, who was attending the lady at the time.

And as for the Lady Eowyn… she leaves her room now only to see to Theodred and the king.  She takes all her meals alone, hardly speaks… her brother's banishment has struck her to the core.

_30 February_

One of the coldest days yet this winter.  The other handmaidens and I spent most of it huddled together by the fire in a pile of blankets.  Lady Eowyn spent all day with Theodred, who is steadily worse.  We could hear her crying when she finally returned to her chamber.  Poor lady… 

_[Authoress's Notes:_

_[I swear to everything holy the book says there are thirty days in February._

_[It should be well noted that the views and opinions set down here are expressly those of the authoress.  And so far as I'm concerned, so far as this point of view goes, it's the truth.  You don't like it, bite me._

_[Next time:  March.  The beginning, anyway.  I'm not sure how much I'll get through in the next installment, but we're about to get into the return of what's left of the Fellowship, the abandonment of Edoras, and the Battle of Helm's Deep.  I just don't know how long it will take me to tell you all of that.]_


	6. Instinct Is a Great Matter

1 March 

My heart is heavy today.  Indeed, it is so in all of Edoras.  If the city were not swathed in black already, we would have gone into mourning.

Théodred, son of Théoden, is dead.

It was discovered this morning.  Lady Éowyn ordered us all from her while she wept over his cold, still body.  She has lost all now – parents, aunt, uncle, cousin… and it may be she loses Rohan as well.  We are in great peril but reluctant to see it.  Too proud, my people, far too proud…

Grima Wormtongue grows ever more forward.  Talk amongst the maidens is that he will convince the king to give Éowyn to him.  I do believe my lady might sooner kill herself.  I can not blame her… to be forced to a man with a soul so foul… I can not come within close range to him without cringing.  It feels like darkness gripping my heart.  He exudes… an aura of subterfuge, oozing a blackness which ruins all that it touches… I believe my lady knows this.  It is why she used to keep us near her at all times… but today she has sent us all away, and I am afraid he will reach her in this time.

No.  I must not worry.  Lady Éowyn is more than capable of dealing with him.

So why do I still sense the danger?

With Théodred has gone our last hope.  There are few now who believe our once-strong nation can endure such troubles.  Our king is weak, our army scattered, our spirit diminished.  I fear for my country.

Sleep well, dear prince, for you have earned the rest.  Sleep, and hope not to notice the nation in tatters you leave behind.

_2 March_

The re-alive wizard came here today, with companions.  Such excitement in Edoras!  Imagine the surprise of the gatekeepers when this strange assembly approached… the Grey One, who has been here before, with a man, strong and handsome and yet so somber (they are whispering he is one of those Rangers, and I would believe it, looking up on him), and an Elf, who is as beautiful as all the stories say, and a Dwarf, who is as ugly.  Lady Éowyn saw them first, and told us to clear the hall.  It is a shame, for if she had not sent us away, we would have seen what happened – I have heard it was both mystical and amazing.  Théoden-King, so old and grave in this past year, has been reverted somehow to the strong warrior we once knew.  Or, I should say, that our parents once knew, for he was much advanced in years by the time I was born.  The wizard must have great powers, to have rejuvenated (is that the word?  Aesith thinks so…) our king so.

It was after all this that I saw the strange visitors, for with his senses restored, Théoden seemed finally to notice his son's departure from this realm, and organized his funeral.  He is greatly wounded by the loss, but too proud to let his people see the weakness.  The visitors attended the funeral, and Lady Éowyn sang the dirge, so low and mournful… 

Does this mean the Riders will be called back?  May I see my Hathneyn again?  Surely Théoden-King will wish to have his nephew Éomer at his side again, with his son lost to him.

Oh!  And I had nearly forgotten.  Grima Wormtongue, that greasy adder, has been expelled from Edoras.  _This_ I saw, which was small comfort after having missed the earlier excitement.  Indeed, Aesith and I were just getting ready to go to market when we heard a great roar from the top of the steps to the Great Hall.  Théoden fairly threw Wormtongue down the stairs, and had at last his sword in hand again.  This was my first glimpse of the restored king; it was so for all the citizens, and I daresay we gaped more than was perhaps proper.  But how could we not!  It is as though thirty years had been removed from him.

Wormtongue begged for mercy, and it was granted (sadly, I think).  Théoden would have killed him for his treachery, and I think it would have been the right choice.  Has not death always been the price for turning your back on your home and people, on the country that  bore you?  It came out at this time to those of us who had not witnessed it that Wormtongue was responsible for our king's deterioration in recent months – I know not how this was discovered, but I trust that wizards and Rangers (if indeed that is what he is) have more learning than I to uncover such things.  I do not doubt that it is true; we have all of us mistrusted the Worm, with his shifting glances that fall too frequently on Lady Éowyn.  More than once I have heard Aesith express a desire to "kick him in one of those scrawny shins of his," which, if you could know Aesith, you would recognize as quite a fierce threat coming from her.  And I agree – though perhaps I am of a more violent inclination.  If his inappropriate overtures to my lady were not enough, it has been well known in Edoras for some time that he controlled the king.  We just had no idea how much, before.

Théoden berated him, and would have hacked his head off and stuck it on a spike as a warning against all traitors, but that the Ranger (?) stayed his hand.  I can not fathom why; this man, this stranger may be handsome (and, though I should not make such assumptions, I have seen Lady Éowyn cast her glance on him much this day), but he is not one of us.  Who is he to intercede in our laws?  But the end of the matter is that the betrayer went free.  Free!  Free, this man who has had no small part in what has become of our once-grand nation, this man who turned his back on the country of his birth and blood.  I should have preferred him dead and gone, that I might spit up on the body.  He ran, slinking away like the coward that he is, tail between his legs like a whipped pup.  I hope he finds his death painfully and soon.

_2 March, later_

And just as I was ready to prepare Lady Éowyn for sleep, more arrivals from outside the city.  Children, these, brought in by Théoden-King and the wizard (White, not Grey any longer, I have learned.  I thought Saruman of Isengard was the White Wizard, but I also have no doubt that the world outside Edoras changes far more than I can keep up with it).  They are from a village on the border of Rohan.  The boy, the older of the two, says that they were attacked by Wildmen.  The little girl just keeps asking for her mother.  The poor dear… Aesith and I have been given charge of them for the time being, and we saw to it that they were fed and warmed and rested, and now they are in our bed while we have piled up, wrapped in furs, in front of the fire.  I do not know what we will do when it goes out, for fueling it the whole night would mean going out for more wood, and it is too cold to move.

Aesith, too, finds the Ranger (?) very handsome.  I do not think any woman with eyes could fail to draw such a conclusion.  The Elf, too, is fair to behold, but almost too much so.  He is almost frightening in his perfection, and at any rate he is not of our Race.  "But," says Aesith, "that we could never have him does not mean we can not look on him."  I giggled and agreed.  His hair is a lighter colour than any of ours, even little Eilyn's, and there is no agreement among the ladies as to how he keeps it brushed so straight and cleaned so well, as he has no doubt been journeying long, to have come from the Elflands to Rohan.  We in the castle can not keep our hair untangled for more than a few hours, and if we do not wash it at least once a week it is rather unpleasant.  Aesith says she is going to ask him his secret; I do not believe her.

The children are sleeping easily now.  It took some persuading to get the girl – Freiya, was it?  Fresyn.  Freisa.  Freda!  It took some persuading to convince Freda to sleep without her mother there, and the little boy, Éothan, did not want to stop chattering about their journey, and how well he handled their horse (too large for him by far), and how long they rode, and how Freda kept whining, and how he wanted to know where his mother was, and then he fell straight to sleep in the middle of a sentence.

I look at them now, and they are darling.  So small, there would probably still be room for either Aesith or me in the bed if we wished.  They are curled up next to each other, for warmth or comfort or both.  Freda is sucking on her smallest finger, and no doubt it will be somewhat wrinkled by the time she wakes up.  I fear that their mother must have been killed in the attacks of the Wildmen, and according to Éothan, their father has been missing in action for some time now.  Though the children remain firmly convinced that both parents are alive somewhere, somehow, I can not help but feel that they are all that is left of the family.

Is that in my future?  A family, I mean.  I hope so.  I want so much for all of this terror to be over, for Neyn to return to me so we can be married.  I look at these precious children, and my heart aches for him.  I yearn for children of my own, for a home and hearth to keep, for a daughter's hair to plait and a son's scrapes to mend.  Will I have that, or will this darkness consume all that is good and right in the world, leaving only misery in its wake?

Today has been a small beacon of light, a faint hope, but will it be enough in the shadow of such overwhelming despair?

I need to stop being so morose… I know not where these thoughts, so enigmatic that even I hardly understand them, come to me from, but I like them not at all.

_[Authoress's Note:_

_[The title is from Henry IV, Part I_

_[Next… Helm's Deep.]_


	7. Travel and Danger

_[Authoress's Note:_

_[Have taken liberties with sequence of events, as Théoden's funeral was accomplished entirely too quickly in the movie, I think.  These things take time to prepare.]_

_3 March, morning_

Théodred's funeral was this morning.  I do not think I have ever seen the people of this city so morose.  Lady Éowyn sang the dirge, to alert the gods to his spirit's presence and guide him to the Great Hall of our ancestors, and many of the women chanted it quietly along with her.  Aesith and I were bid to silence, standing with our lady and acting the part of the silent Shieldmaidens.  It is an old ritual, and one scarcely remembered for its original purpose, dating back from the days when the women fought alongside the men of Rohan, or perhaps even further back, from the legends of the goddess-warriors who inspired the leaders of the past to greatness.  But now the duty is entirely ceremonial.  Lady Éowyn, Aesith, and I may have been adorned with golden circlets, with braces on our arms and leather corsets bound about our chests, but warriors we are not.

Lady Éowyn has a fine voice.

It seemed to me that I saw King Théoden weeping – I can not be sure, I turned my head quickly, having forgotten that I was to fix my eyes upon the sky and not upon my companions, and was a bit shamed at this slip in protocol, though I do not believe any noticed.  It is no wonder, though.  The poor man, to have lost his only son.  I suppose this means Lord Éomer will be heir now, for surely King Théoden will recall him from exile.

Following the ceremony, I saw my family for the first time in several weeks.  My mother and brothers are well, considering current circumstances, but my father looks so much older.  He seems older now than Théoden-King, and I know not what wrought this sudden change – or has he always been so, and I only did not notice?  I think young Eibler has grown a great deal in the past month or so, and it is no wonder, perched so near to the brink of manhood.  But he has some years yet… some years before the duties of his fathers will fall upon him as they have on Asther and Eigrin.  As for those two – Eigrin, as always, hardly seemed to notice my presence, but Asther is changed.  I think the dismal aura around Edoras has finally taken a toll on him, for he had no sharp words for me, no jests, no mockery.  Whether this is some change on his part, or simply the weight of a heavy soul induced by the Prince's death, I can not tell.  They both seem but hollow shells of the strong men they once were.  I think me now that Asther has always resented not being able to be a Rider.  Eigrin never desired such glory, but Asther simply never had such skill.  He resents the world for denying it to him – and 

Little Abethen had to be reminded of my name, but he is so young, that is to be expected.  He nearly got it right – Abthyn is close enough to Abelyn for a five year old's mind and tongue to master.

My mother, quite a contrast, seems stronger, but then the winter air always did do her well.  She is so proud of me – I think she wept tears not only of despair for Théodred, but of joy at seeing her daughter standing beside the Lady Éowyn, playing a part in the funeral rituals.  And I can not find it in my heart to hold it against her.  She has known little enough happiness in past years, that I should not take this small comfort from her, even if it does happen on the day of our prince's funeral.

Fie me, the children have woken – they slept all through the night, dead to the world, and Éowyn instructed us not to wake them this morning.  "There is no need for them to see more proof of death and destruction," she remarked.  So we let them rest, but now they are up and will be wanting food.  I must tend to them, as Aesith is with Lady Éowyn, and Eilyn and Freithyn are in the solar spinning.

_3 March, noon-tide_

Quick entry – for we are leaving Edoras, and on such short notice.  I had hardly time to throw my sparse belongings in a trunk and heave that onto a wagon (and this diary shall have to be in a pack on my person, along with but one spare shift), before I had to rush to help Lady Éowyn.  None of us may bring much – they say we are bound for Helm's Deep, which should be well-provisioned enough.  A change or two of clothing (indeed, for those who can afford so much to begin with), food and water for the journey, and weapons for the men.  More than that, we can not risk.

A final note – when I said earlier that we women were not warriors, I may have spoken in haste.  For as we were packing, I saw the Lady Éowyn with a sword – only for a brief moment, as Aesith and I carried a chest outside – and _she_ can certainly wield it as well as any man.  Perhaps it is a noblewoman's training, reserved only for those females of the highest class.  Would that she would teach me…

_3 March, night_

We have stopped to camp for the evening, after walking all day and a fair ways into the night.  I must apologize for any poor writing, but the firelight is not very good, and my eyesight is poor enough as it is.  

I can say more now of our hasty departure.  It seems we are in danger – though precisely from what, I am still not certain – and Théoden-King has decided it wisest to move to the fortress at Helm's Deep.  It seems of sense to me – everyone knows that no army has ever breached those gates, and certainly none ever will.  We might as well live in the depths of the mountain itself, for all that danger could find us there.  But still… it was hard to leave Edoras.  I could scarcely believe the orders being given at first, and I must confess I stood rather stupidly in the middle of the hall for a few minutes (though to my credit I was not the only one; when I met up with Freithyn and Aesith, they both seemed out of their wits as well, and of course the little ones were still with me at the time and had not the faintest idea what was going on).  I heard a voice saying "My lady… my lady…" and only after a minute did I realize he was speaking to me.  I have not yet gotten used to my new position, and often quite forget that being Lady Éowyn's handmaiden makes me a lady in my own right as well (fancy!).  "My lady," he said, certainly thinking me daft, "King Théoden has given the order to evacuate the city.  Find your fellow handmaidens and your Lady, and prepare yourselves to leave."

And so we did.

Despite the imminent danger to us all, it was a fair enough walk – we of Rohan are a hardy people, and our spirits are always brightened by fresh air and exercise.  I daresay it may have done a great many of us a great deal of good, particularly those whose spirits were ailing in the dank air and stillness of the city.   I began to feel brighter and more cheerful myself, and the other ladies too, I believe.  Aesith and I were given permission by Lady Éowyn to walk freely, not needing to stay by her side (and if I may be so bold, I do believe it was so she could speak to the Ranger by herself without attentive ears nearby), and so we did.  After a great deal of prodding from Aesith, I made brave enough to speak to each of the strangers in turn.  The Dwarf is too coarse for my tastes, and the Elf too foreign, but it was educational all the same.

The Elf (whose name I now know but can not spell) says that the man is indeed a Ranger, and that his name is Aragorn of the Dúnedain.  Dúnedain!  Can you imagine?  Here in Rohan.  I seem to remember something else about the name Aragorn, something I heard years ago, but it will not come to mind now.

Also, the Elf says if he told us his hair-treating secrets, he would have to kill us.  I think this was an Elvish attempt at humour, and now I know why they are renowned for poetry and beauty but not great wit.

Éowyn says we will reach Helm's Deep by mid-day tomorrow.  She is making stew right now, and Aesith and I are most terribly afraid she's going to ask us to try it.  I love my lady dearly, but I love her cooking not at all.  She can not even tear bread into pieces without maiming it horribly.  But none of us have the heart to tell her anything but good things about it, though I think this may be crueler than we intend it to be, for then she inflicts her creations on others.

Oh, merciful heavens, she's taking the stew to the Ranger to test out first.  Goddesses watch over us indeed.


End file.
